Winds esker                
  
                                          
 There Was This Place That For Two  Years 
 I  Couldn'T Go To.  Regardless How  Much 
 Discussed With  Others,  Or Pointed  Out 
 On Maps, I Could  Not Think  Of It  When 
 Alone. I  Would Often  Travel  Past  The 
 Fork, Where  A  Right Turn Would  Surely 
 Take Me There,  But Even Then, Something 
               Kept Me Away.              
                                          
 When  I  Finally Got There,  After  Some 
     Heavy Subconscious Battle I Must     
 Assume,   The  Place   Was  Surreal.  An 
 Esker,  Like A  Needle-Thin  Rift Out In 
 The  Lake,  But  Ten  Meters   High  And 
 Adorned In Birch,  Willow,  Bracken, And 
               Blueberries.               
                                          
 Walking  Atop  That  Spine,  I  Came  To 
 Notice  The View To Either  Side.  There 
 Should  Be  Shores,  Of  Course,  But  I 
 Didn'T Recognize Them.  First  Off, They 
 Were Much Too Close, As The Lake  Should 
 Stretch For  A  Hundred  Meters More  On 
 Both  Sides.  But  Now  I Felt  I  Could 
 Almost  Reach  Out And  Touch  Them. And 
 Then, When  I Realized Which Shores They 
           Were, I Had To Stop.           
                                          
 They Were Of  The Right  Lake.  But This 
      Lake Is Large, Fractured, And       
 Bipartite. Like  A Pair  Of Lungs Carved 
 Into The  Granite, And With No Less Than 
   Five Communities Anchored At Various   
      Points. And So, Studying These      
    Impossibly Close Shores, I Slowly     
 Understood Them As Belonging  Many Miles 
                   Away.                  
                                          
 I  Examined  The  Ridge,   The  Treeline 
 Above. Was  This  What You Saw Opposite, 
 From  Those  Other  Shores?  I  Couldn'T 
                 Remember.                
                                          
 Carrying Forward,  On  The  Very  Tip Of 
 The Esker, I  Found  The Ruins  Of  Some 
    Old Building. There Were Overgrown    
  Marble Staircases, Stone Floors Beneath 
 The  Moss,  And  Strange  Slabs Inserted 
 Into  The  Slope Like  Dams  Against The 
              Ground Itself.              
                                          
 Sitting There, I  Could See  Across  The 
 Narrowed  Lake My Entire Path To Where I 
 Sat:  From  The Stairwell Of  My  House, 
 Through  The Old  Woods  Behind The Tile 
      Factory, The Bridge Over Route      
 Twenty three  And Then  Back  Under  It, 
 Through   The  Fancy  Villas,  Over  The 
 Fields, And Then  That Right Turn At The 
                  Fork.                   
                                          
 And  Then The  Stairs  Up On  The Ridge. 
 Thinking  Back, This  Was  Probably  It. 
 Hidden  In  A Grove, There  Were  Stairs 
 Much Like  The Ones I Currently Sat  On, 
 Old And Worn  Down,  That  Lead  You  Up 
 Onto The Esker. The Point Of Entry.  Had 
 I Insted Opted To Walk  The Path At  Its 
 Foot, I'M  Sure  My  Experience Would'Ve 
          Been Different Indeed.          
                                          
  
                                          
 On  The   Lake,  There  Were  People  In 
 Boats. I  Wondered, Could They Even  See 
 Me? If  I  Shouted, Would They  Turn  To 
          Stare Right Through Me?